The Painted Desert Rose
by MonstersInside
Summary: Story based on the Season 6 promo and my take on the events that lead up to, and followed, Lisbon's abduction. "Love is weakness. And I love weaknesses Teresa. I love that you were his weakness. Because you were so easy to get to. So easy, and he won't think twice about moving heaven and earth to get you back..." Written from Jane and Red John's point of view.
1. Deserted Rose

**Chapter 1**

Deserted Rose

A thin smile twisted across his lips.

It had been so long. So long. He had been good. He had behaved. He had shown restraint. Saved himself. For this. For her. For him. But it had been too long and he needed this.

It was no longer just a casual longing. It had even gone beyond a fervent desire. It was a _need._ It burned within him. It was a hunger. As though he had not eaten for weeks and his body was turning on itself, devouring itself. He had not eaten in so long. And his mind had begun destroying itself. But now. Yes _now _he no longer had to worry about that. An itch that he had been waiting too long to scratch and now...Now...

He glanced down at her. Bound. Gagged. Helpless.

Stripped of her badge and her gun and the comfortable presence of her fake psychic she was just like the rest of them. Weak. Vulnerable. Pretty, no doubt. But disposable. Oh so disposable. And that's what she was.

The only reason she still breathed was because he let her. The only reason that blood still flowed through her veins was because, for now, she was useful to him. The only reason she could still feel her heart beating in her chest was because it beat for him. And that meant that he could use her.

He knew. He had watched them. And had perfected the art of reading people so long ago. His little hobby had depended on it. And he could read them like books. Two little bookends belonging on the one shelf but never being able to see past the baggage between them to see what was so obvious to an outsider.

And yet deep down they both knew it. What their eyes couldn't see their hearts would. And he would come. Wherever she was. Whatever danger she was in. However obvious the trap. He would come. Because he couldn't leave her. He couldn't let her die while he could do anything to save her. He would do anything for her. And that was what he was depending on now.

"Love is such a stupid thing..." he told her unconscious form as he paced around her, movements soft, practiced and deft, with an almost cat-like elegance. "Why human beings evolved to love I'll never understand..." he paused a moment, his steps matching his thoughts as he considered for a moment before going on, "They all tell you, all the books and the films, they all feed you the same lie, that love is strength, that love overcomes evil, always. It's all lies. Love is the greatest enabler in the world. A human being's biggest pressure point is to prey on the things that that person loves most. You find out what they are. And you take them away. And that person will do whatever it is that you desire in order to protect the things that they love."

He strode towards her, crossing the distance between them in three long steps,

"You understand that don't you Teresa? Or you will. Soon enough. Because he loves you. And once he finds out I have you, he won't stop until he has you. He won't think about what I'll do to him, because he'll be too busy worrying about what I'll do to you."

He crouched down beside her, eyes studying her face, barely inches from it as he whispered,

"Love is weakness. Love _breeds _weaknesses. And I love weaknesses Teresa. I love that you were his weakness. Because you were so easy to get to. So easy, and he won't think twice about moving heaven and earth to get you back..."

He stood up again and walked away from her, stretching and breathing in deep lungful of the sweet, sweet air around him. Indulging in his success. And it was sweet. Oh yes, it was almost too sweet. It almost sickened him. Almost made him gag. Almost made him wonder if it was too good to be true. But it was true. He had Teresa Lisbon. He had found Patrick Jane's weakness, and found what a weakness it was, before he ever understood.

And he had no idea what was going to hit him.

"You'll be sorry you ever loved anything Patrick..."He whispered softly to himself, "So sorry..." he trailed away before picking up the thread again and murmuring to thin air, "By the time I'm through with you, you won't even know what love is. Only loss. Only pain. Only pity. And all you will be is sorry..."

A second smile contorted his features and caused his eyes to slide open once more as the tender trill of a phone graced his ears.

Pitching back to his victim he approached her once more and reached into her pocket, allowing himself just a second longer than was necessary to linger over her, drinking her in, giving the beast within a chance to stir its ugly head and taste blood before pushing it back down.

"You don't mind, Teresa, do you?" he asked, removing the phone from her inside pocket, "Thought not." He smirked maliciously when his teasing question garnered no response from his limp victim.

Glancing down at the little screen that had lit up in response to the incoming phone call he grinned, not disappointed,

_Caller ID: Patrick Jane. _

This moment. This was what it had all led up to. Weeks, months _years _of slow and careful torment had led up to this. Finding that one thing that had loved almost as much as he had loved them, that thing that he had let himself love most in this world, and ripping it from him. And now. Now he got to savour that moment,

"Lisbon?" the voice on the other end of the line was odd. Somewhat surprised and relieved, yet almost expectant, with an undercurrent of guilt bubbling through it.

"I'm sorry Patrick;" he told him sleekly, "Teresa can't come to the phone right now."

He could see him. He could see his face fall. He could see every line and every shadow become exposed and revealed as his terror took hold. He could see the horror and the understanding and the disbelief in his eyes. He could hear the breath catch in his throat. He could _feel_ the terror bubbling up inside him as the words sunk in and took hold, like a snake, wrapping itself around his heart and _squeezing_.

"What have you done to her?" he whispered finally, his voice leaden, yet hollow, and numb,

"Oh nothing. Yet." He assured him comfortably,

"If you hurt her-"he began, anger colouring the words that would have been so flat and empty otherwise,

"What?" he interrupted, giggling, "You'll do what you did for your wife and daughter, Patrick? Is that what you'll do?" he hissed, "You'll hunt me down and make me pay. You'll avenge her if it's the last thing you do? You'll get some sort of justice for the terrible, terrible things I've done? Or will you do what you've actually done? Nothing."

"I will find you." He told him pathetically, "I will find you, and I will hurt you if you lay so much as a finger-"

"You will strike me down Patrick? You'll cause me pain beyond my wildest imagination, and we both know that where pain is concerned I have a very _vivid _imagination. Is that what you'll do?"

"I will-"he choked, "I. You. Don't you touch her. Don't you even _think_ of touching her."

"Of I've thought about much more than that." He smirked comfortably,

"I won't let you hurt her." He whispered softly,

"Really?" he asked in amusement, "What say we test that theory Patrick?" he smirked,

Striding over to Lisbon he kicked the bottom of the chair causing her to moan and stir, electricity shooting up her spine.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her head back until she screamed loud enough for him to hear.

"Stop!" The cry was strangled, cracked and full of pain and pleading, as he had known it would be.

He released her and walked away as she began to struggle futilely against her bonds,

"I have her Patrick." He whispered softly, "I have her here with me, and she's quite safe, I assure you, so long as you do as your told, and you understand one thing..." he paused for effect letting his words and their meaning sink in, "I _have _her. And I can do whatever I like to her. And the only way you can stop that is by doing exactly what I say. Do you understand?"

He could feel his hatred burning down the phone as he whispered, "I understand."

"Good." He answered, crisply, "I'll be in touch."

The line went dead then.

He swore softly under his breath and found the phone flying from his hand, mercifully landing on the chair instead of shattering against a wall. That was his only link to him. His only link to her. The only way he could make sure that she would be OK. He couldn't lose that. He couldn't lose himself. He had to pull himself together. For her sake if nothing else. He could not fall apart now. Not with so much at stake.

He raked his hands through his hair, seizing great fistfuls of it and tugging at it, causing pain to shoot through his nerves, leaving them raw and tingling, as he was.

He collapsed into the chair, mind racing, body slowly turning to dust.

"No..."He found himself murmuring under his breath, "Not Lisbon, not...No, no, no, no!"

He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes and, despite himself, as it almost always did, no matter how dire the situation, his guilt took hold and overwhelmed him and he found himself reliving their last conversation,

"Oh come on," he had snapped dismissively, "You are out of your depth."

He was out of his depth now. He had her. He had taken her. The one thing. The one thing he had left. And he had taken it.

All this time he had sworn to himself that he was doing this for his family. For his wife. For his daughter. Who had been brutally murdered in their beds by this monster. He was doing this for the family he had lost. But he had been so busy trying to protect what was gone that he had forgotten to protect the family he had found.

"Lisbon..."

Lisbon. His constant companion. The person who he knew, whenever he looked over his shoulder, would be there. His rock. For all that this department whispered, and they whispered a lot, that Lisbon and her team would be nothing without Jane, that they relied on him, and relied on him a little too much, none of them would ever know how much he relied on them.

How many times she had grounded him. How many times she had stopped him doing something reckless and stupid. How often she had been there for him.

Always. Every day. Every single day she was there. Just there.

And now she was not. Now she was gone. Now he had taken her.

Her reply struck him then, like a punch to the chest, forcing all the air out of his lungs and leaving him gasping and choking.

"_And now you're out of line." _

"_Out of line? Lisbon, how can I be out of line? We are close. We are so close. And now you're telling me that you can handle this? That you don't want me involved, why Lisbon, why?" _

"_Because you are out of your depth." She had snapped, "And because if I let you do this, you will do something reckless and stupid and-" _

"_No, Lisbon, one way-"he had started but she had spoken over him, ignoring his words and acting as though she had not heard him, _

"_And you are going to get yourself killed." _

_That had silenced him. The look on her face when she had said that. The devastation and the horror at the very thought of that had struck him, as he remembered how he had felt when he had lost people close to him. He could see those very emotions echoed in her then. And so he had been quiet. And he had said nothing. And he had let her speak. _

"_And I don't want that." She whispered softly, _

"_Lisbon..." he had murmured, taking a step forwards and placing a soft hand on her cheek, "I...I have to do this." _

"_You can't." She said bluntly, "I won't let you." Her voice falling to a whisper as she spoke those words. The quietest command she had ever given him, and yet more powerful than if she had screamed at the top of her lungs. _

"_You can't stop me Lisbon." He told her gently, feeling her hand fall away from him as he spoke, he caught her wrist as she began to turn away from him, holding her in place, "You knew, from the beginning you knew that it would come to this. That I have to do this. That Red John might be your case but he is mine. He murdered my family Lisbon. My wife. My little girl. People that I loved. People that I cared about-" _

"_Yeah," she breathed, struggling with herself, "He did. And you are so caught up with them, so lost in the past that you are missing everything that is happening around you. You are missing that there are people here and now, who care about you, who want to help you, who want to protect you, who love-" _

_She had broken off there, tears that she refused to shed glinting in her eyes, catching herself and hastily wiping any expression form her face, realising she had said to much. _

_She pulled away from him, pausing only long enough to turn to him once more,_

"_You know what?" she breathed coldly, "You want to go and get him? You get him without me." _

"_Lisbon!" he called, surprised and hurt by this sudden turn of events, _

"_No." She said, shaking her head, "I'm done Jane. I'm done with trying to reason with you. I'm done with trying to show you that other things matter, that other people matter. I'm done with trying to stop you killing yourself while you're chasing ghosts._

_You're on your own." She had told him before leaving, slamming the door behind her. _

She had left him alone then. Left him standing there staring into the empty space where she had stood, lost. But he had not understood the true weight and meaning of her words until now. When he truly was alone. When he had no-one to turn to, because the one person he had always been able to turn to was no longer there.

He felt now, as he had felt then. He had finally regained enough of his wits to realise what had happened and had hurried from the building to the dust-filled car park outside. And that was all he had found. Dust.

She had left him. Jumped in the car with Van Pelt and left him stranded there. Washed her hands of him and the cruel words they had spoken.

He would usually have waited. Have expected her to regret her words, rash as they had been. To come back for him. And then they would sit in stony silence for half an hour as the thick deserted melted into roads and then buildings around them again, and as the scenery built upon itself to form a city from nothingness, so too would their conversation.

He would make a joke. Some light little comment or statement and watch as the corners of her mouth lifted as she tried not to smile, as she fought to remain impassive, still pissed off.

And then he would wait a little, testing the waters. And then he would say something else. Something he knew would work its way under her skin and fester there. Something that would leave an itch that she couldn't help but scratch. And, sure enough, whether it be five seconds, five minutes or fifty, eventually, she would turn to him and answer, usually indignantly. And then they would fall back into step with one another as though it had never happened. Water under the bridge. Forgotten.

This time however, he did not wait. He did not think of a little joke to tell her and he did not bother trying to find words that would get under her skin and produce some sort of response from her.

Instead, he had gone back inside and called a taxi.

And now here he was. At the CBI HQ, closeted away in his little attic. Except that now there was nothing underneath him but dead space. Where once there had been a foundation, a solid pillar that had kept him going over all this time, somewhere he could call home. Now there was nothing.

Because now he knew that he could not simply go back downstairs when he was done in here, when what happened in his head up here got too much, he could not just go down and find her and reassure himself that he had something that was certain and stable and safe. And now she was gone. And he had nothing.

He glanced out of the window and sank back into the chair, heart hammering, blood pumping, chest heaving and closed his eyes and tried to block it all out for just a moment. When he opened them again, his heart rate had returned to normal and he no longer felt the world spinning around him and yet, he could not force himself to think. He could not force himself to concentrate. Shock and numb terror had settled over him and had stripped away everything else, not leaving room for logic or reason. He had only the raw emotions that had taken root deep within him after hearing her scream.

And so he sat. And picked the phone up. And he waited. Waited for either the call to come and tell him what he had to do or for his wits to return to him. Waited until he knew how to save her. Because nothing else mattered to him then. That was all he was living for now. _She _was all he was living for now.

Just her.

And Red John knew it...

A/N: This is my first Mentalist fanfiction and I'm still finding my way around the characters so please, any and all comments and criticism are welcomed! Thank you for reading, please leave a review :)


	2. Red Tulips In The Window

**Chapter 2**

Red Tulips In The Window

Jane ran his fingers through his hair, his hands dragging down over the taut skin of his face, feeling the sweat beginning to bead his forehead. He was trying to think of something, he was trying to think of anything, anything other than what he had just been hit with.

A picture. A poem.

A song.

Anything at all.

Anything that didn't show him her face. Anything that stopped him from hearing her scream. Anything that would put her out of his mind because if he ever wanted to see her again he knew that he could not think of her now.

_But he has her. _He thought, unable to stop his mind from running rampant and showing him all manner of things he could not bear to see. _He has her, just like he had them. He'll kill her, just like he killed them. _

A carnival of wild, grotesque images was playing out in his mind, each one desperately chasing after the last and flooding his mind in an endless sea of images that streamed past, one after the other, a hideous carousel of demented images running on fast forward.

He could feel himself swaying on the spot as he closed his eyes, overcome and overwhelmed. His hand leapt out, fingers biting into the nearby desk, scattering pieces of paper across the floor as he used it to steady himself.

He allowed himself to sink to his knees, head in hands, elbows braced against the floor as he took several deep, rattling breaths and attempted to avoid being sick.

His skin was clammy, slick with sweat and burning as though he had a fever. He shivered violently and wrapped his hands around his stomach forcing himself to think.

_She's not dead. She's not dead yet. He hasn't killed her yet. He hasn't taken her from you yet. You can still get her back. You can still see her again. You can still tell her... _

He would not lose her. He would not lose another woman that he loved.

It was that realisation more than anything else that returned any semblance of his wits to him. Sitting suddenly bolt upright he took a deep breath, feeling the air draw in through his mouth, following it down his windpipe and feeling the oxygen settle in his lungs where it travelled to his brain and allowed one single flair of beautiful lucidity to filter through him.

He loved her. She was his. He would not hurt her, because she was his, because he would protect her, because he would find her, because he had to.

"_I'm always going to save you Lisbon..." _

He had promised her that. He owed her that. She had been saving his life for years. Just by being her, just by being there for him, always. When he saw how his world crumbled only by removing her from it he knew, he knew he more than cared for her, he knew he trusted her with more than his life; with his secrets, he knew he loved her, he knew that he needed her. And he knew that he would save her now, as she had saved him. He had to. Otherwise what was the point?

He closed his eyes again and concentrated. Allowing everything in his head to simply fall away. The thoughts. The memories. The flashbacks. All gone. Leaving nothing but black. Any empty slate. When his eyes fluttered open again, he had control of himself once more.

His heart rate had returned to normal, flat, smooth and assured in his chest, his breathing was level, even and composed and his mind; his mind was as sharp and clear as it always was, as it needed to be.

He got to his feet once more before descending from the den and emerging on the landing.

The usual trickle of people coming in and out of the elevators flowed passed him, like a river bending around a rock, vaguely aware that it was there but not considering it worth investing his time in.

He slipped past them, through the kitchen and in to the open-plan working space that hosted most of their operations. Grace was sitting at the computer at her desk while Cho and Rigsby argued about the benefits of different types of guns and ammunition, the standard issue nine millimetre against a larger, less accurate weapon.

Striding across the room to where the large whiteboard sat, with the details of the last case they had worked drawn up across it, he grabbed the corner and pulled it, causing it to rotate and reveal the other side, clean.

Seizing a large red marker he scrawled across the board,

_Coffee and donuts on me. Let's go. _

He turned back to see them watching, Rigsby with hopeful longing, Grace with a raised eye and faint disbelief and Cho with his usual expression that varied little season to season.

Smiling, he winked at Grace and, without another word, picked up the jacket that lay on the couch behind them and headed for the lifts, knowing they would follow, and knowing that he needed them to.

The little coffee-shop he proposed to lead them to was only a few minutes' walk away, a favourite haunt of most of the agents in the CBI at one time or another, but it was a world away from the large red-brick building where he was beginning to suspect that the very walls had eyes and ears and that somehow, they all fed back to Red John.

He needed them somewhere he could trust. And he no longer trusted the CBI. The people, or the place, and he was not willing to take any chances.

As predicted, by the time he had chosen a table and put in their usual order, the three of them had filtered into the cafe and had found him, sitting around him without question.

"What's the occasion?" Rigsby asked, watching Jane carefully, and drawing Cho and Van Pelt's eyes to him as well,

"We have a slight situation." He told them mildly, pausing as their coffees arrived and flashing an easy smile to their waitress, waiting until she had left before he said, "And I didn't want to discuss it at CBI."

He picked up one of the sachets of sugar in the little bowl in front of them and stirred it in to his tea.

"Why not?" Van Pelt asked, at the same time Cho said,

"What is it?"

Smiling slightly as he toyed with the delicate silver spoon in his cup he told the swirling amber liquid within,

"Because, Red John has eyes and ears everywhere and I wanted to be somewhere he wasn't." He murmured evenly,

"Red John?" Grace repeated, surprised, "What's going on, why are we-"

"What's happened?" Cho broke in roughly, not having touched his coffee while the other two had added sugar and milk to theirs, eyes fixed on Jane.

"Red John has Lisbon." He replied quietly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

They reacted as he had expected them to, Cho in stoic silence, reclining in his chair, seemingly emotionless while his eyes flared and gave the game away, Rigsby yelped in horror and upset the cup of coffee, sending the dark liquid scampering to the opposite corners of the table and Grace's mouth dropped open as she leant forwards and whispered,

"What?"

"Red John has taken Lisbon, he's holding her hosta-"Jane repeated in a measured voice, looking up at them properly now and making eye contact,

"Are you saying that a notorious serial killer has kidnapped Lisbon and is threatening her life while you waste time bringing us out for coffee?" Cho demanded harshly,

"It wasn't a waste of time. Red John has people inside CBI, inside everywhere, and I don't want him knowing what we know." Jane replied smoothly, "I had to get you out without arousing suspicion and I had to find somewhere nearby that we could talk."

"OK," Cho said, again being the voice of the three, the one the other two had temporarily lost to shock, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, eyes glittering, he went on, "So talk."

"Wait a minute." Grace broke in, eyes darting wildly between the other three, "We should tell someone, get everyone else involved, have them help."

"No." Jane said flatly, shaking his head, "That's the one thing we can't do."

"Well why not?" Rigsby put in, eyes flickering towards Grace for half a heartbeat before ploughing on, "The more people we have involved the more evidence we can go through, the more leads we can find, the more chance we have-"

"Of getting Lisbon killed." Jane replied, eyes meeting the other man's across the table and holding them in place for a moment before he lowered them slightly and said, "If there's one thing we can do right now that will be guaranteed to get Lisbon killed, it's that."

"But why, Jane," Grace protested, eyes wide, "Maybe this is what he wants. To isolate us. To cut us off. If we had CBI involved-"

"No." Jane said, louder than before, the sudden jump in the pitch of his voice causing Grace to jump. He lowered it again, almost apologetically as he went on, explaining, "The only thing Red John loves more than killed people and causing them pain is playing games. He likes thinking he's in control. He likes pulling strings and watching us dance to his tune. And the longer we do that; the longer we play this game of his, the longer we have to find her, because the longer he'll keep her alive, to keep us playing."

"You're sure about this?" Grace whispered,

"As sure as I can be about anything." Jane replied softly, he hesitated a moment before asking, "Why do you think he's left me alive for so long? All these years I've only come closer and closer to finding him, I've only caused him more and more grief so why? The easiest thing to do, the best thing to do, the thing he should have done was had me killed and he hasn't? He hasn't. And why?

Because I make a better opponent than I make a victim. Because he enjoys playing with me. Because he's enjoyed watching me dance for him since he murdered my family. Because he knows that I'll keep playing his game until one of us is forced to kill the other.

Because I keep playing the game..."

He had looked to each of them in turn, eyes wide, certain, there was no trace of doubt, there was no hint of the fears that were gnawing away at him. There couldn't be. He needed them on his side. He needed them to play by his rules. He needed them to play by Red John's rules.

He had them. He had all three of them. But it was Cho who voiced their decision,

"Alright. So what do we do?"

"We wait." He replied softly, "We wait for him to contact us."

"What?" Grace demanded, an edge to her voice, "While he has Lisbon somewhere, and he's threatening her; we just sit here and do nothing and wait for him to call?"

"Yes." Jane replied tautly, turning to her, "He needs to think that he's running this. He needs to feel like he's in control. That we are just puppets at the ends of his strings, helpless."

"Aren't we?" Cho asked with his usual bulldozer's tact.

"No." Jane replied softly, "We are playing the game not the hand; we are biding our time. We are playing a long game."

"So we wait?" Rigsby asked softly, watching Jane with a guarded expression.

"We wait." Jane confirmed.

And wait they did. Half an hour and a second round of drinks passed. Then an hour. Then two. He was toying with them, Jane decided. He was watching them. He had thrown them all together in a confined space and now he was turning up the heat and the pressure and making them stew in their fear, in their doubt and in their pain, waiting for the cracks to show.

The first ones did after an hour had passed with nothing but tea and coffee and an uncomfortable silence that had become almost tangible, passing between them. Finally, Rigsby stood up and announced he needed some air, shouldering past them and heading from the cafe. Grace sat as though carved from stone and, eventually, and wordlessly, Cho seemed to decide that he needed the same thing and followed Rigsby.

When they were alone, Grace, who had barely said two words since their conversation had ended, turned to Jane and whispered,

"How can you be like this?" her eyes flashed as she went on, without waiting for any kind of answer or questioning as to what she had meant, "You've known her for years, you've worked with her for years, been by her side every day, all day, for weeks at a time. She relies on you, she trusts you, she _cares _about you. I thought you cared about her too..." she trailed off and when even that failed to provoke a response in the deep, empty blue eyes she went on, a hint of disgust colouring her words now, "How can you be so calm? And so distant and so _cold_?" she hissed,

He leant in then, unable to stop himself, finding a sudden need for her to understand, "Because if I'm not, if I let myself think for once single second that he has her; if I think about what that could mean, about what he could do to her, at any moment, and how powerless I am to stop him...I'll go mad." He whispered tersely, watching her surprise at the sudden twisted passion and desperation in his voice, "And then we'll never find her," he went on, "And she'll die. And I can't let that happen Grace. I won't let that happen." He said, holding her gaze as she watched him carefully seeing a strange emotion stir within his eyes before he lowered them, gazing into the depths of the half empty cup of tea in front of him as he murmured, "And so I have to be calm, and distant and cold; because I have to be rational. I have to think. I have to save her..." the last words came out as a breathless whisper, eyes unblinking, focussed on drowning themselves in the deep dark liquid in front of him, "And the only way I can do that is to treat this like any other case, to pretend that it doesn't matter, that she doesn't matter. Because she does matter. She matters more than anything right now, and if I let myself know that, then I can't do this. And I have to do this." He paused a moment before going on, seemingly unable to stop, "I have to lock away my feelings because, because my feelings won't help her now. Because my feelings are the reason she's in this mess in the first place. My feelings will get her killed..."

When he finished he pushed himself away from the table and left Grace sitting alone at the table, shocked.

It was another hour and twenty minutes after that, when they were all together, gathered awkwardly around the table once more, that the phone rang.

After glancing around the deserted cafe and between the taut faces of the remainder of their broken team, Jane put the phone on speaker in the centre of the table and answered it, wordlessly

"Patrick," the cool voice murmured sleekly, "Long time, no speak. I see you've got the gang back together, well done," they glanced among themselves but none of them answered, "That's alright. That's good. I suppose it's only natural. When in crisis, stand together. What was the phrase now, divided they fall? Well, stand you should, together, bigger and stronger...But then, the bigger they are, the harder they fall, isn't that right Patrick?"

No-one answered, though Jane felt his muscles tense for a fraction of a second before forcing himself to relax once more.

"Rather grim lot Patrick," he observed drily, "And here you used to keep such cheerful company." He paused before adding, "It's a shame Patrick, the turn your life has taken, it used to be filled with so much light and now all I see is darkness."

"You rang?" Jane prompted evenly,

"So I did. And, as you so rightly infer with that ever-so impatient tone, I rang for a purpose. What you can do to get your Lisbon back." He paused a moment before allowing a light laugh to bubble from his lips, "That _is _what you want, isn't it?"

"We want proof of life before we want anything else." Cho put in bluntly,

"Well, at least someone knows what he wants. But then, you always did..." they could hear the smirk playing about the words, "Very well, I'm sure she won't mind, she doesn't have a lot planned for today at any rate. Teresa, play nice, say hello..."

"Jane," the voice, her voice, unmistakably hers, sent a bolt of electricity up his spine and through his nerves, heightening his senses and making the urgency and desire within him almost painful, "Jane, whatever he wants, don't give it to him, don't give the crazy son-of-a-bitch any-"

They all winced at the sound of flesh striking flesh and the faint, muffled cry that accompanied it.

The sleek, honeyed voice took on an icy cast as it observed, "I did ask you to play nicely...I'm asking you to play nicely too Patrick, and now you know what happens if you don't."

"I'll play nicely." Jane promised meekly,

"Very good," the voice simpered,

"What do you want?" Jane asked lightly,

"What do I want?" the voice repeated, pensive, "What do _I _want?" he considered for a moment, before shrugging and saying, "I want lots of things Patrick, and you make it such a broad question, it's hard to choose." Jane began to add to his earlier question but the silky sounds issuing from the phone in the centre of the table cut across him, "Right now Patrick, right now, I want to ask you a question."

"Ask away." Jane replied in a measured tone, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms comfortably across his chest,

"How does it feel Patrick?" the poisonous hiss whispered, "How does it feel to know that you are solely responsible for the pain and suffering and the _deaths_ of everything and everyone you've ever loved?"

The faint half-smile that had flickered across Jane's face died.

"Your wife. Your daughter. And soon enough, Teresa Lisbon..." he went on smoothly; apparently blissfully unaware of the effect he was having on Jane,

"Everything that has happened in their neat, simple little lives, anything they could have to complain about, is all down to you."

Jane felt his muscles tauten, his face seemingly calm and expressionless as his hands balled themselves in to fists.

"You recall I'm sure, Patrick, the story of King Midas?" he whispered, with a tinge of sadistic delight playing about his words now, "He wasn't happy with what he had, and so he asked for more. And more he received. The gift of being able to turn anything he touched in to gold. But it was a cruel gift. A curse, if you will. You know this story, don't you Patrick?"

"I've heard it." He replied, forcing himself to keep his tone as light as possible,

"Well you remind me of King Midas, Patrick," He was informed sleekly, "You were greedy. You weren't happy with what you had. You wanted more. You always wanted more; you always had to push everything you had, everything you did too far. You tricked the devil himself into giving you more than you deserved and like our good King Midas, you only discovered the razor edge to that gift when it was too late.

Because you see Patrick, everything you touch, everything you get close to, everything you love...Dies.

And not quickly. Slowly. Painfully.

It's like a poison. It sinks in under their skin at the first touch, and as you grow closer, as you expose more of yourself, as you open more of yourself up, it seeps through their veins, and when they decide to let you in to their deepest darkest secrets, when they decide to take you into their hearts, when they decide to let themselves love you, then it spreads to their heart. And it blackens, and taints and _corrupts_ them.

And then it kills them.

And then they die.

Because of you, Patrick. All because of you. Always because of you.

So tell me Patrick, tell me, how does it feel to know that? Well? How does it feel to be the cause of so much pain, and so much destruction? How. Does. It. _Feel_?"

"How do you think it feels?" Was the cracked and broken response,

The smile was palpable in the next words, "Well I can't imagine it feels very good. I imagine it feels quite bad. For you. Not for me. I am not burdened by these feelings. I am not burdened by love. It makes me feel good when those closest to me suffer, because they suffer for me, they suffer gladly for me and their pain makes me very happy, very happy indeed."

"What do you want?" Jane asked tonelessly,

"You think you're special, don't you. You think you were given some gift, don't you? You think that you are the only one who is smart enough to catch me. But you're no different from anyone else. In the end, they're all the same. They all crumble the same; they all die the same way, with fear in their eyes and a scream on their lips. And they all plead with me. They all beg me for mercy. They all ask me what I want. What they can give me, what they can do for me, what they can possibly offer to make me spare their pitiful little lives.

No-one's made me an offer I can't refuse yet."

"What, do you want?" Jane repeated, an edge creeping inadvertently into his tone,

"What indeed?" he murmured, "What could I _possibly _want, what could be enough-"

"Tell me what you want. Now." Jane snapped, showing the first signs of breaking since this conversation had began,

"Or what?" was the taunting response,

"Or I'll hang up this phone." Jane hissed,

A laugh was his only response for what seemed like an eternity before it finally faded enough to say, "Well then I'll kill her."

"Yes, you will." Jane answered softly, "And then the game is up. Because neither of us has a reason to keep playing. And we fade back in to the dreary little routine of cat and mouse. No push. No prize. No chase. Just steps. One after the other. You tell me what you want, or I'll leave this game, I'll leave now."

"You're bluffing."

"If I am, then it's your move." Jane replied, "If I'm not...It's still your move."

He hesitated for the longest time before the move was finally made,

"Tell me Patrick, Teresa Lisbon, how much does she mean to you, truthfully?"

"Everything." Was the taut, whisper,

"Everything?" he repeated sleekly, "You value her above everything else right now? You wouldn't swap her for the whole world?"

"No..."

"Prove it."

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review! (Also, just a quick note to say that I'm not sure when exactly this will be updated as I'm kind of writing as the fancy strikes me :) Keep an eye out!)


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